Special Guest
by TheBatgirl31
Summary: Christine sings at the Bistro and becomes the new songbird of the Paris Opera. Unfortunately, not everyone likes all the attention she's getting. Based on the 1990 adaptation with Charles Dance. Oneshot. Rated for violence, nudity, and suggestive themes.


"Special Guest"  
>By:TheBatgirl31<p>

"Will you come with me, as my special guest?" That was how he put it. Philippe was known by everyone in the company. The managers had always kept a box reserved for him and the chorus girls kept their doors unlocked. He remembered how he and Christine had played as children but a small amount of that little boy remained.

A crowd of young dancers in shawls and garters watched as he invited Christine to the bistro celebration. All their eyes on her, knowing that she had no choice to refuse, made her feel so little. She was already relentlessly teased and called a liar for her childhood friendship with Philippe, now she faced more ridicule if she turned down the man she faithfully claimed had promised her singing lessons.

Christine turned back to her laundry cart and looked down into the mesh of soiled costumes. Tossing a red blouse she had been holding into the pile she responded briskly and began to push her cart toward the back stairs.

"I will accept if I am allowed to finish my work."

Looking back she realized how brash her response had been but she did not feel it fair to be forced into submission simply because there had been an audience. Also, Christine had not been sure an appearance at a cast party would be a wise decision.

"The bistro is what we have been waiting for," her Maestro said enthusiastically as she later recounted what had happened that afternoon.

Christine looked up from her pensive thoughts and into her teacher's masked face. He seemed very pleased that she had been invited to a company event and insisted she attend with just as much fervor.

"Everybody sings at the bistro that's the tradition. That is why everyone loves going there."

He leaned forward, his one hand brushing back his coattails while the other pointed at her chin. "And you will sing too."

Christine looked at him nonetheless reassured.

"And they will all hear," he said leaning back, hands folded in his lap. "There will be no way that La Carlotta can say no." He chortled at the mention of the company's diva who had recently been discouraged from the stage due to her comedic debut.

"La Carlotta would rather have her husband sell the opera rather than let someone else stand in for her," Christine said. "Even if she did she'd be sure to see that their performance did not outshine hers."

Erik laughed again and stood, moving to stand by the piano.

"Her husband is a business man. He sees the results of her refusal to perform. If she won't sing then he'll find someone else to fill the seats." Erik turned back to look at Christine. "You have nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing she could do to hide the beauty of your voice."

Christine hugged her shoulders and looked away. Carlotta was not the one she was afraid to face. It was everyone else who would be watching her with Philippe.

"What is it that makes you worry, Christine?" Erik asked.

Christine looked down at her hands and then off somewhere away from Erik's gaze.

"If I go as the Count's guest then I will be under scrutiny for more than my voice." She turned to face Erik now. He still stood near the piano with one hand resting on it. He took a pensive moment to consider what she had said.

It was no secret that the Count de Chagny mingled among all classes of the opera company, most of his attention spoiled on the beauties frolicking backstage rather than the true beauty of the opera itself. Christine at his arm would be seen as fresh taste of the opera flavors. Most would consider his invitation to Christine a pitied courtesy out of his own personal guilt for arranging for her singing lessons and coming to find her pushing a costume cart. Erik felt a selfish glow of pride at having been the one to deliver on the Count's promise.

"What should I do?" Christine asked, cutting off his train of thought.

Erik was still hesitant. He leaned back against the piano, his eyes cast down in thought. Finally he answered her.

"When they hear you sing, Christine, they will be so astounded that they will not believe what they have just heard. They will know Heaven, as I do." Erik smiled and silently gave her an encouraging look. "When you sing there will be nothing else."

With that, Erik held up a thoughtful finger and moved to the back of the room, opening a hidden door in the wall and disappearing behind it for a moment. A moment later he returned with a mass of lace and gorgeous satin folds, making up the most beautiful dress Christine could have ever dreamed of. Her eyes went wide at the sight of it and she tore her eyes away from it to see Erik's anticipation for her approval.

"This is what you will wear," he said gently though he was afraid she would not like his choice. It was by no means old fashioned and completely adhered to the trends he had seen women wearing to the Opera, though much more tasteful and elegant than what some of the other chorus girls ran amuck in during the evening.

Erik held it out in front of her on his arms so she could examine it full length. His eyes welcomed her to stand and get a closer look.

Christine walked over to him and saw that the shoulders and neckline were adorned with antique white, lace and flowers and ribbons tied in bows over the arms. The bodice was a bone corset and the skirt was form fitting but still cascaded out like a princess gown. Her breath escaped her and she was overwhelmed at the subtlety yet intricate beauty in the dress. It was the most perfect thing she had ever seen.

"Maestro," she said in a reverent whisper, eyes still never wavering from the dress, "it is stunning!"

Erik chuckled and let the skirt dangle over the floor. "You will make it perfection, Christine."

Delicately he draped the dress over a few wardrobe crates and neatly brushed out the fabric so it would not wrinkle.

"I have forgotten your shoes," said Erik, "While I retrieve them why don't you try it on." He took her hand and lead her toward the dress and gestured toward it with a sweeping hand as if to say "All of this and all you could ever dream of is yours." How true to heart that was for Erik.

While her Maestro was gone Christine removed her ankle boots and unbuttoned her work dress bodice in the front. She had gotten rather skilled at removing her corset on her own and was able to remove it swiftly. She stepped out of her work skirt and lay them gently beside the new gown, taking a moment to soak the sight of it in. She was sure that no matter who wore it that they would resemble royalty. She smiled and ran her hands down her stockings to make sure there were no tears and suddenly she froze.

Christine was standing in her makeshift apartment in the storage room of the Opera House basement in only a sheer chemise and underwear with her Maestro to return at any moment and catch her blushing like a fresh, Spring violet!

She dove for the dress and held it up to get a grasp on how to enter it. The corset bodice and skirt were attached so she stepped into the mass of fabric and pulled it up to her chest. With one hand she removed her chemise while holding the dress to cover her chest. She tossed the chemise aside and secured the bodice to her and reached behind her to start lacing up the corset. At that moment she caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors and felt she looked rather ridiculous leaning over trying to tie up the back of the dress and having the flowers and ribbons dangling over the side. Suddenly she was not sure she would do it justice.

At that moment Erik returned with the appropriate shows and saw her struggling to maneuver into the dress and chuckled. Christine whirled around and the look on her face could have broken Erik's heart. She looked like she was trying to secure herself into a sofa cushion rather than a beautiful gown.

Erik whirled his finger in a circle for her to turn around so he could help her. Skillfully Erik's hands took to the laces of the corset and the bodice took steady hold on Christine's waist.

Within a few moments she no longer needed to hold up the bodice and straightened the straps on her shoulders. Running her hands over the flowers and lace set them in a more orderly place and she examined herself in the mirror again.

_That hair!_

Christine pulled her hair out of the knot on top of her head and her blond tresses fell down past her shoulders. She grabbed her borrowed comb from the costume department and began dragging it through her hair. Erik continued to secure the back of the dress and gave her soothing words of encouragement.

"You have nothing to be concerned about. I have faith. I promise you you're going to be fine.

Christine rolled her eyes as her comb snagged on a knot in her hair and she tried to pull but it only yanked further on the hair. Erik had finished lacing up the dress and now made to take the comb from her. He disentangled her hair and proceeded to comb through it more gently.

When he had finished his ministration he handed the comb to Christine along with a beautiful pair of matching white, heelless shoes. He placed them on the floor and she slipped her feet into them. They fit perfectly and had a soft lining that comforted her toes.

Christine smiled and Erik put his hands on her shoulders and steered her to look in the mirror again.

"The beauty in the dress comes alive with you, Christine." She sighed contentedly at her reflection now. She enjoyed how it fit her and did not restrict her movements in the slightest. It felt like a new layer of skin. As her eyes traveled up she grimaced again at her unruly crown. She made to tie it back up in a knot to keep it out of her face but Erik placed a laced piece of fabric in her hands.

Christine saw that it was a hair pin that matched the dress's subtle flower detail. He put the pins in her hand and went in search for a smaller mirror she could use to help apply it correctly.

Christine stood in front of the large mirror while securing her hair neatly on top of her hair with some of the pins and then faced Erik's small, hand held mirror to make sure she was pinning the hairpiece in straight.

Erik's eyes never left Christine. In this moment he observed her as the pinnacle of supreme beauty and nothing else could compare to how she looked to him in that moment. As he had laced up her dress it had taken everything in him not to let his fingers delicately trace the skin along her spine but he had resisted and kept his hands appropriately busy. When he had finished, he had rested his hands on her shoulders where he had wanted to place a kiss. Again he resisted.

As he held the mirror for her he became lost in her movements and how the dress moved with her. It was an indescribable image.

Suddenly Christine spoke and drew him back from the fog.

"Forgive me. I'm hurrying as fast as I can." She was still fussing with the hair pins.

"Don't worry. I've never seen such perfection." He had not meant to say that but she had heard him and her eyes momentarily left her reflection to look up at him. His eyes fell and after a moment she returned to her mirror.

She sighed contentedly when she had finished and dropped her hands, nodding to him that she was ready. Erik deftly took her hands and looked at her in true adoration.

"You are ready, Christine. Now it is your turn to teach them what angels sound like."

Christine smiled and shyly looked into her Maestro's eyes. There was an unspoken plea there.

"Are you sure you will not come, Maestro? I would not be so afraid if I knew you were there."

Erik chuckled and squeezed her hands, reveling in the feel of her soft skin wrapped in his.

"You are _ready_, Christine. I know it. And I will be with you to celebrate your great success."

Christine smiled sadly and lowered her eyes again. "Thank you, Maestro. For everything." She looked up at him and he saw a slight dew of tears. "I know my father would have been glad to know you and he would have been forever grateful to your guidance to me and my voice."

She let their hands fall and she walked back to the full length mirror to see her immaculate reflection.

"And thank you for this dress. I feel my voice will be surpassed by its beauty alone!"

Erik laughed and came to stand beside her.

"There is nothing that can take away from the beauty of your voice, Christine. You have my promise of that truth."

Erik met her eyes in their reflection. He was very aware of how he hated his mask so close to her flawless face.

"But you must do one thing for me," Erik said suddenly stern. Christine met his gaze in the mirror.

"You must promise to make sure Carlotta falls into a very deep hole sometime this evening."

Christine laughed her delicate, feminine laugh that made Erik's heart leap in joy.

"Or at least make everyone forget that she is the prima donna. Tonight it is you, Christine. You."

Without warning, Christine turned her head and Erik felt a nudge from her lips again the mask just above where his nose should be. He looked at her in shock and she was blushing, her lips pressed together nervoisly . She placed her hand over her mouth and let out an embarrassed giggle.

"I…I'm sorry, Maestro. I don't know what came over me. I mean to give you a kiss on the nose but then I realized that you would not feel it."

Erik could only focus on one word she had said.

_A kiss. A kiss for me._ Erik's heart seemed to soar and his skin suddenly felt hot.

"It…it's quite alright, Christine."

There was a moment of shared silence before Erik cleared his throat and picked up her hand to place a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"The time has come! You mustn't be late."

Erik led Christine out to the stables exit and helped her into a cab. Before climbing in and shutting the door, Christine clutched both of his gloved hands in hers and forced his eyes to hers.

"Thank you again, Maestro. I truly cannot-"

"Erik," he said.

Christine gave him a puzzled look at his correction.

"My name is Erik, Christine."

Surprisingly, Christine smiled. He had just gone against his own rule of anonymity to let her share in the knowledge of at least part of his identity. Christine felt great warmth that he trusted her and wished her to call him by his true name but she also reveled in the idea that she no knew one of his secrets. She squeezed his hand as joy built in her chest and filled her.

"Erik," she said trying it on her tongue. It sent a small shiver through her. She enjoyed how it sounded.

Erik then helped her into the carriage and closed the door securely behind her. Before shutting it, he had given her an encouraging smile which she had enthusiastically returned.

As the carriage trotted off toward the Bistro, Christine marveled at what had just transpired between herself and her masked maestro. She said the name once or twice out loud and smiled. It was a strong name: simple but firm and resilient. Christine felt it suited him wonderfully and suddenly wished he were with her.

This feeling mounted as much as her dread at the sight of their arrival.

The driver held out his hand to her and helped her down to the ground. He jumped back into his seat and kicked off, the snap of his whip followed by hollow trotting hooves. Christine looked over the building and could see a mass of people and bustling shadows inside dancing and laughing happily at round tables. She took a long breath and stepped up toward the door.

In the alleyway to her right Christine did not see a shrouded figure in a cape with a walking cane and a mask watching over her.

Christine took a deep breath and opened the door of the Bistro. The first person she saw was Philippe and her heart sank.

_An hour later…_

Sheer triumph. There was little else that could describe the impression Christine Daae left in the room that night. The only possible matching reaction to the beauty of her voice besides the explosive applause was stunned silence.

Christine was continuously surrounded by admirers and well-wishers making a circle around her for the rest of the night. Philippe remained at her elbow, introducing her to every face. It truly seemed he did know everyone in the company by name. Not one person approached him without a joyous expression or an open armed embrace. The latter group was mostly women from the company's chorus and a few ballerinas. Christine could never remember all of their names and they all passed through her head in a blur. Still, even if she had tried to remember who all of them were she would never have been able to escape the exhilaration and stupendous joy she felt after her song was so well received.

Carlotta did not present herself and in fact left her table rather suddenly and had not returned. Her husband, Monsieur Choleti, had urged her to join Christine on stage to sing and her vanity had not allowed her to refuse. She had stood in front of Christine to block her from view but nothing could hide the pure perfection that was her voice. Christine had surpassed Carlotta in both skill and grace. Her voice had reached the highest register with no air of discomfort or effort. Carlotta sang with spastic breaths and strained pitches, trying to keep up with her. Where Carlotta had to sing the same words repeatedly with heavy breaths, Christine held one long steady note that seemed powerful enough to rattle the heartstrings of every soul watching her. Christine seemed to float and her smile was bright.

Philippe had steered her toward an older gentleman with a graying mustache to match the silver hairs on his head. He introduced himself as Gerard Carriere, the former manager of the Paris Opera.

"Former?" Christine asked.

Gerard smiled sadly. "Yes, Monsieur Choleti and his wife have taken over my dusty post. Perhaps they will bring new life to the opera now that they don't have an old man hovering around."

The old man smiled while Philippe interjected passionately. "No one could do this job better than you, Gerard. If I had it my way you'd be back in your office with a _real_ singer on the stage." As he said this, Philippe looked longingly down at Christine. She noticed and smiled appreciatively.

Gerard nodded as if reading Philippe's meaning and agreed. "Perhaps Carlotta is the one in need of lessons, Philippe."

Christine blushed while the men laughed heartfully. Their conversation drifted from her and she looked around at the other members of the company having an enjoyable evening. Most if not all of them were now acquaintances when earlier today she may as well have not existed. She felt a bigger piece of something magnificent.

Then suddenly it was if a blast of wind had blown a part of her happiness away. As she scanned the room and saw so many new faces, there was no sign of the familiar masked face she wished to see. The new overwhelming rush took hold of her and she wished terribly to be on her way back to the opera. She wondered if he would have waited for her.

Christine heard her name and turned back to see Gerard and Philippe staring at her.

"Perhaps my efforts were in vain," said Philippe, wrapping his arm around Christine's shoulders. "She already sings like an angel." Christine smiled and lay he her hand on his arm affectionately.

Across the room at a table near the stage a group of women in gaudy evening dresses were staring at Christine's back. More attuned to their attention was the Count's backside.

"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" said one of the women with bright blonde hair tied up with a mass of feathers. Her name was Colette.

"That's what the Count certainly is picking up on," said another woman dressing in a low chested, pink gown. Her name was Apolline.

The other three women at the table said nothing but continued to stare at the couple. When Philippe put his arm around Christine's shoulders, they all seemed to hiss.

"What I'd like to know," said one of the other women in a dark, turquoise dress with jumbles of gold bracelets round her wrists, "is where she gets off showing up the company's diva. Who exactly does she think she is?"

"I don't think she came here worried about Carlotta, Adrienne," said Colette. Following her gaze, they all turned to stare at Philippe again. Colette nodded.

"He sent her here to sing. I think she's looking forward to playing _patron's pet._"

The other girls threw empty looks at her. They all noticed Christine scanning the room as if looking for someone, eyes wide and attentive. Then her eyes quickly fell and she seemed to be lost to everything around her.

"You don't think she can hear us, can she?" said another woman named Elise with a hint of anticipation in her voice as she eyed Christine.

Colette shook her head. "Of course not."

"She's too busy hearing how amazing she is," said the last partner at their table named Marcelle.

Each of them was silent now and the music changed. Christine was looking happily at Philippe and leaned into him. They saw his arm tighten around her.

Apolline leaned in towards the other girls and smiled cruelly. "Maybe we should induct her properly. Show her how things run around here."

The other girls mirrored that smile. Colette smirked and nodded slowly.

"It's only fair," said Colette.

As the night went on, the stage was never empty and the music grew more and more festive. The tables were pushed a side to make room for the dancers who showed off their skills with true grace. Many of them had removed some of their outer layers and petticoats and stocking kicked in the air above their unraveling hair.

Christine was nearly caught up in the Can-Can line but quickly dodged their persistent pleas that she join by seeking refuge at Philippe's side. He smiled at her and playfully pushed her back toward the dancers but she held onto his sleeve for dear life, her smile growing bigger. She was truly enjoying herself and had no true sense of time.

She turned to Philippe and put her lips near to his ear so he could hear her. "I think I had better take my leave."

_I've kept him waiting long enough. _

The smile faded slightly from Philippe's face but he nodded. He stood with her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He waved at a few others to signal his departure but Christine held him back.

"No, please, stay. You should enjoy the rest of the party. I can get back on my own."

Philippe shook his head sternly. "I couldn't let a lady walk alone at this time of night. Let me offer you my carriage."

Christine patted his arm and shook her head. "It is not a far walk. And I would rather enjoy the night air."

Christine picked up her skirts and moved toward the door. She caught sight of herself in a mirror by the exit and was surprised to see that there was not a wrinkle in her dress nor a single hair out of place. Still her reflection astounded her.

Before opening the door, she turned back to Philippe and grabbed his hands warmly.

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you so much." Her smile was bewildering and Philippe bent to kiss her hand. His mind held firmly on the memory of her calling him her friend again after all this time. He returned a happy grin.

"Goodnight Christine."

The night air was chilly but Christine did not regret the walk. She left the Bistro with a soaring spirit. For a moment as she walked she threw her arms out and seemed to glide through the shadows, feeling the wind catching every inch of her.

Christine stopped suddenly when she felt something grab her left wrist. She was yanked toward a side street where the light from the street lamps could not reach. There were four women in front of her, a fifth holding onto her shoulders. All of them were smiling, most of them were laughing.

"Miss. Christine," said Colette, "so glad to finally have a chance to meet you."

But Christine knew all of them. They were members of the chorus and Christine was in charge of their costumes. These women were among the crowd of girls who had been watching as Philippe invited her to the Bistro. They often harassed her and criticized her whenever they saw she was in a good mood.

Christine was slightly frightened and wondered how many steps away she was from the Bistro's doorway.

"Excuse me, ladies, but I must be getting back," Christine said timidly and tried to wriggle out of Elise's grasp.

"No stay," said Apolline as she rested her hands on Christine's cheeks, "we want to show you how the company celebrates such a momentous occasion." Her voice faded into menacing laughter which the other girls took up as well. Christine's hands began to shake and she tried to slap their approaching hands away.

"No, please," Christine plead but they had started to pull at her and all she could do was scream.

A few hands clamped down over her mouth and stifled her. They had surrounded her and she could feel them pulling and tugging at her dress.

Christine's eyes were saucers and their faces swam in front of her, their laughing almost deafening. They dragged her a few feet further into the darker side of the street, hidden by the far wall of the grocer.

She reached up and tried to rip their hands away from her mouth and tried to scream but the air was shoved back into her lungs.

"I don't think this dress will do, ladies," said Colette, "we should show her how to dress for the Count!" They all laughed and a few hands started grabbing at her hair.

First they started ripping out the flowers. The lace tore and fell to the ground in unrecognizable tatters. They hunched up her skirts and their nails scratched at her legs. Christine could feel snags being made in her stockings. One of the white shoes fell off and her bare foot against the cobblestone was rough and cold. She could hear the material of the skirt tearing and could see handfuls of fabric being tossed away. The brisk night air hit her legs and she buckled. Christine slammed her eyes shut and felt the horrified tears falling down her cheeks. Their hands stifled her cries but she screamed in her mind and her own desperate, screeching voice rang in her ears.

_SAVE ME! PLEASE!_

Their faces were unclear. The colors of their eyes swirled and their gaping mouths were open wide, spitting out cruel laughter that cracked from their throats. Suddenly she didn't see their faces. The blur cleared and she saw a familiar masked face that filled her heart with a warm relief that was dashed as quickly as it had come. A vision of who would be her savior.

Christine tore at their hands and finally managed to unwind their fingers from around her mouth and throat. She cried out into the night but her words were muffled and slurred from fear.

"For God's sake shut her up!" hissed Marcelle.

Christine felt herself being dragged further away and the light from the street grew even dimmer. They were all pushing down on her mouth and face and Christine was now gasping for air. Her heart was hammering in terror and each breath came out strangled. Their hands even covered her nose which made her feel as if she were holding her breath.

The pins had been ripped from her hair and her scalp burned from their nails and from the pulled hair. Christine managed to open her mouth to scream again and when she felt a palm pressing over it again she bit down in desperation.

Elise screamed and clutched her right hand. Christine's cheek now throbbed as the back of Colette's hand slammed against her face. At the force of the blow Christine was thrown backward and she took a long gulping breath, letting out a strangled cry. They all held firm on her arms and back, drawing her back in to their circle.

The combined odors from their perfumes began to clog Christine's senses and she felt slightly dizzy. Another slap to her face filled her mouth with a thick, coppery taste and she spat little trickles of blood down her chin.

Christine felt knuckles against the tops of her chest. Apolline had gotten grip at the top of Christine's bodice and pulled. The sound of the tearing fabric echoed on the empty street. The chilled air hit Christine's bare skin as her breasts were exposed to the cold. Her arms flew up to cover herself and she felt the skin below her neck to be hot. The marks from their fingernails enflamed her skin and it was now that Christine began to think that she would die.

_They are going to kill me. _

Suddenly Christine felt herself being pushed and landed on the cold, hard stone walkway. Her hands were raw from landing on the harsh stone and her upper body shivered from the cold. Her legs were barely covered and both of her feet were bare now. She saw pointed, heeled shoes and lace brims on long, swooping skirts of all colors.

Her neck cramped as she tried to look up at them and her entire body shook. Christine was shocked to see three of the group already walking away while two of them still hovered over her. Colette and Adrienne stood over her like predators smiling down at their capture.

"Don't take it personally, dear," said Colette as she straightened her wrap around her shoulders, "it's just that we _all _love the Count and we like to keep things even."

She turned to walk away while Adrienne kicked a large hunk of Christine's dress in her face. "Welcome to the company," she laughed and sped off to rejoin her group.

The last Christine heard of them was the fading, hollow echoes of their heels.

Christine lay on her stomach on the group and her mouth hung open gasping for air as she cried. Her sobs wracked her body and she tried to stand but the dizziness would not pass. Defeated, she pressed her forehead to the ground and tried her best to cover herself with her scraped hands. A few moments passed and she tried to drag herself forward. She did not want to be found there in the state she was in, particularly by any men who were wandering around at this time.

She felt completely vulnerable and without any fighting strength. At this point she was anybody's target.

The street lights up ahead gave her the continued will to pull her body forward, which was no easy task. She could not crawl or scoot on her side without revealing her chest so she painfully resorted to dragging her body along the gravel and cobblestones in the street. Her skin was raw and in the dim light she could see no blood, though she could still taste it powerfully in her mouth.

For a moment she tried to recount how far away from the Bistro she could be. Perhaps Philippe would still be there. The glimmer of hope faded as quickly as it had come and she chastised herself for the thought. She was beaten, half-naked, and most likely bloody after her attack. She couldn't very well walk into the Bistro and scan the crowd of people for Philippe without creating a scandal out of herself just after she had won them over with her voice. She pressed on with her mind set on her original path.

Christine groaned with every foot she moved, her aching body protesting to go no further but all she prayed for was the warmth and familiarity of the opera house. She did not care if those women were there waiting for her. There was someone else there who would help her. She was sure her maestro would be waiting to greet her after her performance and he would be there to take care of her.

New dread began to fill her at the thought of her borrowed and now ruined dress. It had looked so beautiful when he had brought it out from his hiding place and now she left a trail of it down the sidewalk as she crawled. New tears formed in her eyes but each full intake of air gave her new strength. All sorts of thoughts ran through her mind and they distracted her slightly from the pain.

She would repay him for the dress. She would explain that she had been attacked and he would not be too disappointed. Once she told him of her great triumph he would not be so angry. In the morning she would report all five of those horrid women to the manager and they would be out on their rears before midday. Christine smiled hopefully. The trail back to the opera would be longer at the rate of her limited movement but a feeling of security and renewed confidence strengthened her to where she knew someone would be waiting.

Her maestro. She thought of his voice, the firmness of her arms and shoulders. When she had embraced him in gratitude at the end of one of their lessons his body had gone rigid but she had sense a power in him as well as a warmth that intrigued her. His voice filled her mind. She tried to remember things he had said to her which made him seem real, as if he were with her in this moment, watching over her as she scuttled back to him.

Despite the scratching and scraping of her body across the ground, Christine's ears picked up on a set of footsteps on the street ahead. Her body froze and she listened, her eyes fixed on the spot where a stream of light shone on the street. She was almost at the corner and could see more of what was ahead of her. A shadow passed a stack of crates in front of a shop ahead and she knew instantly it was a man. His long cape and hat made him seem to be ten feet tall at this distance.

The man had not stopped and had continued on his way, passing her by completely unnoticed.

Christine sighed heavily with breath she had been holding in fear and she proceeded further down the street. She had spotted a tarp draped over some of the crates in front of the shop. Once she got to the end of the road she would run to it and use it to cover herself so she could proceed on foot.

Wrapping on arm over her chest, Christine tried to stand on wobbly legs. She hunched over to try and keep her balance and took larger, tentative steps. Her other hand she used to support her against the ground and she assumed that any observer would think she looked like a chimp walking down their street.

Again she heard the same heavy footsteps and she fell back to lay on the ground. She had wanted to run and dash behind a nearby trash bin but had become unsteady and collapsed in fright.

At the corner of the street she saw the same man with the cape and hat coming from the opposite direction stop at the end of the street. She was sure he could see her and she tried to regain her footing again. She didn't feel this man would harm her since she could tell he was finely dressed. Standing under the light she could see some of his dress and saw he was dressed in great finery. His hands sported white gloves and he carried a cane. His cloak was black and his cravat was aligned perfectly with his vest.

Christine clumsily tried to stand and push forward at the same time and stumbled twice. Her feet were unsteady and she was feebly trying to cover her nakedness. When she looked up again she was kneeling almost directly in front of him. The street lamps had captured her now and her exposed skin seemed to glow. She shivered and tears fell rapidly down her cheeks again.

She wanted to speak but words failed her. All she could manage was throaty gasps and sad moans.

The man took a step toward her and spoke. "Christine?"

His voice. She knew it. She prayed she was not imagining it out of hope. Looking up she saw that under his top hat the man's face was a different skin tone than his chin and neck. He was wearing a mask. The eyes behind the mask met hers and she could see them widen in alarm, his mouth falling open in shock.

"Christine!" her maestro shouted.

Christine let out a relieved cry and when he kneeled down in front of her she threw herself against him. She let the tears fall freely now and felt his arms wrap securely around her.

"My god…my god!" Erik said as he pressed her tightly against his chest. She buried her face into his cloak and clutched at her body protectively from the cold and even more aware at how little was covering her body.

Erik grabbed her face between his hands and tried to make her look at him. Her hair was a tangled mess and there were speckles of dried mud mixed in her blonde waves. Her cheeks were red, one was swollen and he feared it would be purpled from a massive bruise the next morning. Streams of tears left trails down her face and her lip trembled with pathetic sadness. He saw the claw marks on her neck and small trickles of dried blood had crusted on her skin.

Nothing he could have imaging would have been as terrible as what he saw. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body and Erik now saw the extent of her attacker's brutality. The beautiful gown he had given her had been reduced to shreds. She was almost completely bared to the navel except for a few scanty shards of fabric. The skirt was ripped and her stockings were torn. Her feet were bare and also scraped. Her crossed arms were all that separated him from her exposed breasts and with her head lowered her hair served as a sort of curtain.

"Oh, Christine," Erik said brokenly and pressed her against him again with a choked sob that echoed one of her own. With one hand wrapped firmly around her, Erik unclasped the cloak at his neck and draped it around Christine to cover her. She shivered against the cold brought on by the swirling cape but embraced the warm fabric gratefully and pressed her sad face against it. Erik helped her to stand and scooped her up into his arms with ease. Tucking the ends of his cloak around her legs, Erik turned around and made his way back to the Opera House.

_Long into the night…_

Erik looked out at his lagoon and the bright glistening of the water. He had been up for hours and weariness still eluded him. The discovery of Christine in the street about a block away from the Bistro kept him jolted with electricity from the shock which eventually faded into pure fury.

He had brought her back to the Opera House and taken her down to his home. She had been crumpled into a pile in the corner of his boat as he rowed her across the underground lake and new tears had fallen. He had heard her tiny gasps of pain and sadness as they had crossed to the other side. When he had had reached for her again she had unraveled herself for him to pick her up again and carry her out of the boat. She had buried her face against his neck and her breathing had slowed, the only change in the steady breaths was when she sobbed and then pressed her face harder against the softness of his shoulder.

The bed overlooking the lake was cozy and soft for her. Erik had placed her gently on the bed and kept her wrapped firmly in his cloak. He had made to go and get some towels and fresh water to clean her wounds but before he could get more than three feet away from the bed she had cried out and reached desperately for him. Giving her his gloved hand she had pulled him back down and begged him to stay with her.

"Please. Please," was all she could say.

Erik had placed his other gloved hand over both of hers which clutched his. "I will be right back, Christine. I promise."

She had relinquished and her eyes had followed him out of the room. Erik had moved much faster to collect what he needed and found himself jogging back up the steps to the room.

Christine had still been wrapped in his cloak but her hands hand disappeared beneath it. Erik had removed his vest and gloves and rolled up his sleeves to dip the towels into the wash basin.

Erik gently rung out the water and softly pressed the towel to her forehead and cheeks. To her surprise the water was pleasantly warm and she welcomed the touch. He wiped away the dirt and scrubbed gently at the dried blood on her chin. Tossing the first soiled towel aside, Erik soaked another one and pressed it against her cheek. Christine flinched in pain but Erik held it there to try and comfort the enflamed flesh.

As an afterthought, Erik asked for her hand and directed her to hold it against her face. He left the room for a few moments and came back with a small bowl and a glass of water. Erik took the towel from her and handed her the glass to wash out her mouth. Christine sipped it greedily but then grimaced as the taste of blood and soured spit now ran down her throat. When Erik held the bowl up for her she understood. She took a large mouthful of water and sloshed it around between her cheeks. After a few seconds she spat it back into the bowl Erik held and her eyes went wide at the sight. The clear, fresh tasting water had turned a deep crimson. She took another swig of what was left in the water and spat into the bowl again, cleaning most of the unpleasant taste out of her mouth.

Tossing the next soiled tower away, Erik sat and looked at Christine, unsure of how to proceed. She needed her wounds to be cleaned and disinfected but his cloak was all that covered her. Indecency was the word that came to mind and this thought provoked another that he had tried to stifle since finding her in such a state. It was a reality he felt he could not bear to face but knew he must ask in order to help her properly.

One of her hands reached out to him from the folds of his cloak and he grasped it tightly.

"Christine," he whispered, "are you…hurt?" was the most he could manage.

She looked down and he saw her shiver under his cloak and knew it wasn't from the cold.

"The scratches and bruises...Oh, Maestro, I'm so sorry!" she cried.

Christine's head fell and she cried into her hands. Erik pulled them apart so she could look at him.

"Whatever for, Christine?"

She answered him through fresh tears. "They ripped the dress! And I lost the shoes you gave me! They were so _horrible_!"

She cried more and Erik leaned closer to her, fearing the worst. In his mind he pleaded that what he thought was not the truth. He wouldn't be able to believe it.

"Who, Christine? Who?"

Christine cried silently and sniffled for a moment before she answered.

"I…I knew them. All of them! They were five women who work at the Opera. I think they were at the Bistro tonight." She became more and more frantic as she went on to give the names of her attackers. Erik had almost not heard her. Part of his mind was in another place.

He would never have let it show but an explosion of relief blew through Erik's body. She had not been raped. Suddenly the world seemed brighter.

Erik abandoned the questions and made to continue his ministrations but again remembered how little was left of the dress under his cloak.

"Christine," he began delicately, "I cannot…I will leave you the towels and water so you can wash. I will be just outside the door if-"

But Christine did not hear him. She reached again for both of his hands and Erik's heart jumped as the cloak drifted slightly from her shoulders. There were more and more scratches and welts further down and he was sure there were more that the cloak concealed. He looked into her eyes, searching for what to do.

"Please, Maestro. I don't want to see how much blood-" and her words drifted off.

Erik was frozen for a few moments. His eyes fell from her face as he considered the situation. It was against any rules of propriety that had even been instilled. Though she was the one wrapped in the cloak, Erik was the one who felt exposed. All that stood between her nakedness and his eyes was his own reservations now. Absentmindedly, Erik touched the cheek of his mask.

Looking up he saw her eyes on him and Erik saw something new in the way she looked at him. In those wide, blue eyes Erik saw all the trust in the world and a yearning for closeness.

Slowly, Erik unwrapped his cloak from under her arms and let it fall open around her waist. What he saw now was one of the most beautiful sights Erik had ever seen.

She allowed him to touch her and showed no sign of objection to his care, only to how much dirt and blood was on her scraped skin. Erik pressed the warm towels against her skin and let the water trickle down her torso. She hissed slightly at the feel of the water on her sensitive wounds but Erik cleaned them gently to alleviate the sting. With shaking hands he ran the warm washcloth against her breasts and the skin underneath. Erik had never felt anything so soft and when he had used the back of his hand to push them aside to clean her other wounds he had been amazed at the weightlessness and beauty of her full mounds.

Dutifully Erik caressed every inch with the soothing warmth and Christine told him where she felt the most pain. He only had to dress one wound with a bandage on her hip and then wrapped her up in his cloak once more while he tended to her legs and feet.

When he had finished there was a pile of torn and shredded garments on the floor and Erik took his cape from Christine. He kept his eyes averted as he pulled back the blankets and tucked her in warmly. For a few moments he sat with her and stroked the skin over her arm. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb and smile weakly up at him. She murmured a few unintelligible words but Erik was able to distinctly decipher the word "Angel" among her rambling. His heart soared and when it appeared she had finally dozed off, Erik had leant down and kissed her forehead. He wondered if she had felt it.

Christine did not notice Erik's departure in her slumber. He had taken his cape and a long coil of rope.

The first one he found was Elise. Easily enough, she was in her bed not three streets away and had not felt the need to close her window. Next, he came across Marcelle at her vanity in her small board room. She had not had time to cry out before Erik's leather glove had clamped firmly around her mouth. Erik had taken Adrienne with a little more patience. She had arrived back to her apartment with a younger man, completely unaware of Erik's hiding place in her wardrobe. Erik had slipped out when the lights had been turned out and dragged her off naked and screaming while grinding on her moaning lover. Apolline had landed sideways across her bed and hadn't even bothered to wake up from her drunken stupor while Erik wrapped his hands around her neck. The last was Colette who had been out walking in the fresh night air. The last thing she had seen of her attacker was the black mask covering his livid face.

The next morning, a crowd of horrified early-risers collected on the stage and looked up towards the stagehands' catwalk. Hanging like a row of sandbags were the bodies of five chorus members. Some were still in their evening dress, two in their night gowns, one was nude. The performance that night was canceled but the police were not called. A letter at the scene had explained who was responsible for their deaths. The note had simply read:

_Let this be a warning to all those who try to destroy this Opera's true songbird. _

And as Christine Daae slept warmly in Erik's home, he ran his fingers through her hair and knew that the stage would forever be hers and that all she would know was his love.

**Hello everyone! This is a oneshot that I have had sitting in my notebook for some time now. I came up with the idea while I was in New York this summer where I actually got to see Phantom on Broadway which was a fantastic experience! I jotted it down on a piece of paper from the hotel and I never really got into it until recently. I know you're wondering why I'm being so mean to Christine but I swear I'm not trying to tell her that I hate her! On the contrary I love Christine very much. I just thought it would be an interesting scenario from the Charles Dance version if after she sang at the Bistro that someone tried to put her in her place. It seemed like something that probably would have happened. **

**Please drop a line and let me know what you think. I enjoy your thoughts on my thoughts and they motivate me to write more! **

**Updates for "All He Needs" to come soon!**


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